


Titles

by Doveheart



Category: Guild Wars
Genre: Gen, Heart of Thorns Spoilers, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doveheart/pseuds/Doveheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every title you are given means more blood on your hands. You are left wondering if you did the right thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titles

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written in second person so I wanted to try. Also, I can't proof read this, it hurts too bad. The pain is still fresh.

**Valiant.**

Your dream claws at your mind. It's a plague and something you must must must do. You don't know how to feel so you simply push forward. Caithe tells you the shield is the most obtainable part and this man with it — you were destined to help him.

He tells you his name is Tiachren and you must must must help him save his lover.

You are a Valiant and your dream is who you are so you go where the wind takes you. You would help save Ysvelta and you would be a hero. You could, you had to, save her. You believe this so much but you still see the way Caithe lowers her gaze and balls her fists. Caithe doesn't believe. You would prove her wrong. You set out but instead you were the one who would be wrong.

Ysvelta is gone gone gone. You could not save her. Caithe won't meet your gaze and Tiachren shakes and shudders. You're sorry and you mouth those words but no one is listening. You did everything you could. You pretended to join the Court, you pretended to kill Caithe (—and the look on her face was so real you know it will haunt your Dream and the Dreams of the Sylvari who inherit your memories). And yet it wasn't enough. You failed.

Caithe tells you there is no hope, that there are more innocents at risk but Tiachren insists, begs for you to try one last time. You choose to save the townspeople. You choose to abandon Tiachren. One life for many, you think, and that is the only justification you can think of. He made his choice, Caithe says but it still feels wrong.

It just feels so wrong. Just like Ysvelta's blood dripping from your sword and the way Tiachren's voice echoes in your head. He runs towards you and you jerk your blade forward. Quick and, you hope, painless. A sputtering gasp. There is so much blood and you swallow.

They made they're choice and it's Caithe's voice. Her hands shaking and her eyes half shut. She is hurting.

“What happened to make you so bitter, Caithe?”

She won't look at you.

“Did you loose someone to the Nightmare Court too?”

Caithe finally breaks. She tells you and you realize this story is too close to hers. She aches for someone she can no longer have. She won't remember what they were but rather what they aren't now. Caithe is bitter and it's like thorns growing all around her, digging into her.

And your biggest fear is that you will be grow bitter too.

 

**Lightbringer.**

Tybalt lets you lean against him during long trips. Sometimes you fall asleep. He smells like apples and that makes you giggle. You've never touched a charr before and he is soft. You reach for his left hand. You want to touch the rough pads of his paws, examine his claws, but he jerks away.

“We're almost there,” he says and he'll tell you someday. His left paw is covered in a glove, anyway, so instead you put your hand in his right one. He squeezes it and he trace the cracks in his paw pad.

You are a Lightbringer of the Order of Whispers and the road to Lion's Arch is a long one. The cart jerks and Tybalt cleans his gun as you pet his fur the wrong way. His tail twitches but he holds back a laugh. A young sylvari and you're just as strange to him as he is to you. Everything is new to you.

But you two are on a mission. A very important one. You jerk your thoughts back to it. You are supposed to find a missing agent. You hope he didn't go rogue, you don't want to kill him. You would find the truth and you would be a hero. This long long ride is calming for your nerves. Both of you.

You do find your missing agent. The smell of decay nearly makes you sick and it gets worse as it gets dark. A fog is starting to roll in and you hold your nose. Tybalt straightens after examining the body.

“Whatever did this could still be here.”

And then the miasma spreads in and you know it. All Sylvari know it. You were born to fight it. It's a creature of Orr and it dives at you, all claws and teeth and the smell — oh Pale Mother, _the smell_. Tybalt steps up to you and you can smell apples. It's okay, you think and you draw your sword. You fight and his aim is perfect even when you are dancing across the room, blade swinging. He tells you later he likes the challenge.

The creature you kill, Tybalt tells you, is a scout and you have to go, you have to get to Claw Island. This is bad and a fear sets into your gut. Tybalt grabs your hand and the two of you run with his left hand in yours and his right hand on the trigger. People give you strange looks but you can't worry about that. You board the boat for Claw Island and Tybalt lets you hold his left hand the whole way. Your other hand's knuckles are turning pale, wrapped around the hilt of your sword. You're scared. But you promise yourself you would save everyone.

You can't let anyone else die. Ysvelta and Tiachren were enough. Too much. You are wrong, again but you can hope. You must must must _hope._

Seeing Trahearne at Claw Island is a comfort but also a bad omen. There is no mistake now. The undead are coming. Tybalt knows him and that makes you smile, though. You can almost forget, and you want to. Trahearne smiles at you but there is fear in his eyes. You are sure yours are the same when you smile. Your throat is dry and Tybalt's tail brushes against your leg. The guard captain won't listen to you and you step forward to yell at him. Trahearne has to grab your arm softly to calm you. You do as the captain says and inspect the defenses.

You're told that if Claw Island is to fall, you have to light the signals to warn Lions Arch. You look back at the towers and try to see if you know how to work them. You can't tell from this far away.

It all happens so fast, after that. Adrenaline pounds in your veins and you smell it before you see it. The miasma and the fog and the ship. Undead seem to rain from the sky and swarm the beach. You feel weak. Trahearne grabs your hand and keeps you on your feet. Tybalt's gun is already firing. You try to concentrate on the faint smell of apples but all you can smell is death.

Tybalt is a Lightbringer and so are you. Tybalt just wants to be a hero but doesn't he know he already is? He's a hero to you and to so many others she doesn't have to prove anything. He lets you grab his left paw and you cling to it. You try to beg him no but then he pulls away just as you place a kiss to the scarred pad. Trahearne tugs you through the gates and they small shut behind you. You realize you're crying, sobbing, and hysterical only when he pulls you close but you have to keep moving, Trahearne tells you. You lead the line, letting anger and bitterness guide you. You hear Tybalt's voice as you reach the docks.

“I won't let you have them!”

And you miss you the smell of apples.

 

**Commander.**

When you are appointed second-in-command to the Pact, you are scared. You've learned titles mean death and you aren't sure you are ready for the responsibility of more blood on your hands. You tell Trahearne your fears and he smiles. He always smiles. He tells you you'll do great, commander. And your heart flutters and you nod shakily. He puts his hand on yours and you promise him that you will do your best.

But here, in this jungle, with Trahearne gone gone gone, you wonder if you lied. You wonder if you made the right choice. But Trahearne is on your mind and in your heart and you would try try try.

You're a commander now. You're the commander of the Pact. People look up to you. People depend on you. People like Apatia, who's blood drips from your sword and is stained on your armor. She was glad you trusted her but the dead look in her eyes when she's risen is seared in your memory. She fell so easily when you had to bring her down. She looked at peace, though, in the end and for that you are greatful.

And people like Eir, who's scream still echos in your head at night. She had looked so scared and the way her eyes glazed over when you tried to find a heartbeat. There was none and the night falls around you like all your allies. The same night that is so dangerous and there is more than just her scream you can hear.

You command to protect who is left and you command to protect yourself from the voice in the back of your head. It's always there, waiting for you to falter.

You are a commander now and you cannot ever ever falter. Too many people depend on you now. The whole sylvari race depends on you. The fate and future of your own race is on your shoulders. You swallow, hand gripping your sword. You fight for everyone and you fight for yourself. The jungle is unforgiving but still you fight.

You discover many places and your allies are by your side. From the powerful surge of energy from Glint's egg in your hand to the decrepit Rata Novus. You push on even when Taimi stay behind and you push on even when you want to wrap your hands around Caithe's neck. And finally, finally, you fall to your knees, body sore and ribs cracked, in front of Zojja. You help her up but you must keep going.

Your head is pounding by the time you reach Logan and if you falter (—the word 'again' nearly slips out but you won't give them reason to doubt you as Commander not now, not when you are so close) you beg them to cut you down. The voice is loud here and you know you are close.

And when you see Trahearne the panic sets in and the panic overwhelms you. The voice laughs. You fly into a fit of rage and you will kill anything and anyone who gets in your way. You rush forward, towards whatever Foalin has become and you lash out. There are tears in your eyes and you roll to the side as she laughs in time with the echoing pain in the back of your head.

You must must must _hope_. You will save Trahearne, Oh Pale Mother, you _must._ You are bitter, you are angry and you are desperate.

“Don't you know it's dangerous to rebel against your creator?”

She's talking to Caithe, temping Caithe, but it you who responses to the taunt. You dive forward, you hear nothing and then the creature screams, a deep wail. Blood and sap spays across your face and body but the deed it done. You pull back instantly, let the body collapse and leave your sword lodged into it's chest. It's not Faolin anymore and maybe it never was. You rush towards Trahearne and you finally see the twisted mess he has become. A lump catches in your throat and you hesitate. That is your mistake. The vines, Mordremoth's veins, rip your ally away from you; your hand brushes his has he is pulled past you and you almost feel his fingers reach out to grab yours.

You yell, a scream that nearly matches Foalin's and you do not wait for your team. You leap into the abyss, down past the spinning column of spikes and dive into the unknown. You will free Trahearne. You're allies follow fast and you hear them land behind you, but you are already cutting a path forward, your bow pulled from its place on your back. The dragon's voice is loudest hear and you feel sick. You can feel it grabbing you, twisting you, like thorns and you realize you have indeed become bitter.

But nothing can control you. You have hope.

“I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get this dragon out of my head for good,” you whisper, pausing for your allies to catch up. Your bow is nocked and ready.

Canach speaks and you are glad he is here with you. He has always understood. “Agreed. Mordremoth must pay. And the world needs to see a sylvari exact payment. Lead on, Commander.”

And you would exact payment. For Trahearne, for all the sylvari, for _yourself._ You fight, with hope and bitterness and the dragon's voice all around you. It shakes you, shakes the earth you stand on but you keep going. You have to. Everyone behind you looks up to you. You are their commander.

And then you see him, closer now and you take a step forward. The earth breathes with him beneath your feet.

“Trahearne. Oh, Pale Mother, what has the dragon done to you?” You reach up and place a hand to his cheek. He smiles.

“Commander. The Pact...is it...”

You feel a tear run down your cheek, “All but gone, Brother. But my team will finish this,” you let the bitterness seep into your voice and he brings a hand up to place over yours.

“It's too late. I know — I am part of the jungle dragon now. It is everywhere.”

Trahearne was supposed to be hope — not you. But you are the commander and suddenly, you have more hope than you ever thought you could. You spent your whole life scared of the blood on your hands, scared of failing and scared of growing bitter. But here, with Trahearne and your team — you are hope. You know what to do. You will kill Mordremoth at the root. The Dream.

Trahearne smiles again and you let your hand fall away from his face so that you can step back to explain the plan and organize your team. Then, you turn your voice to the dragon:

“I will reduce your mind to ashes before I'm done.”

“Bold words. But empty ones,” Mordremoth responds.

You take Caithe and Canach because this is a sylvari matter. This is about your race. This is personal. You fight with a vigor you have never felt so strong and you fight for Tyria and for Trahearne. You fight Canach's and Caithe's own personal demons and then you are left fighting your own Nightmares.

And you see Tybalt.

“It's good to see you, my friend,” he aims his rifle and you feel so sick. His voice is wrong and his fur mangled, bloody. He is broken and corrupt. You can't hear, can't think. You falter.

“I...I can't.” The voice is so close, you can't concentrate.

Canach yells at you, he's too far away to grab you but he reaches for you. You see Tybalt about to fire.

“You are stronger than this, Commander! Focus your mind. Reject the dragon!”

You take a step towards him and you want to kill him. You want to be with Tybalt and Trahearne.

“Come. I can help you like you helped me,” Canach has found a tear in the mindscape and he kneels by it. He lets his guard down. You move towards him, ready to strike but the rift tugs at you pulls at you and Tybalt is dead dead dead. He's not really here. It's a lie.

The pain comes next and you fall to your knees. You hear Tybalt's last words again and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You hold your head and you feel Canach put a hand on your arm, pulling you up and pressing your bow back into your hands.

You are panting, shaking, but you take the weapon, “I...think it worked. My head is clear again. That...hurt. But I'd rather be pained than enslaved. Thank you.”

Canach gives you half a smile, “I'm just glad I could return the favor.”

You both turn your attention back to the fight — back to Tybalt who is just standing to stand. He had been pulled towards the rift just as you had.

“I missed you, Tybalt,” you say and it smells like apples.

“Let's finish this!” He yells and now he fires at Mordremoth.

You fight with a renewal. There is hope and you can do this. You can do this. You know how to handle everything the dragon throws at you, because you've been in his head and he's been in yours. You've already won. His voice is still there but you use it know when you've hurt him and you bring him down. Caithe is quick with her blades and Canach shields you. You gain allies, people the dragon tries to use against you as he grows desperate. But you remain calm, and prepared for whatever you throws at you. You command your troops and you command each blighted nightmare he throws at you. You are a leader, headstrong and ready.

And you, with your allies and your friends around you, kill Mordemoth. Caithe, Canach and you are still there. Still yourselves. There is a silence you didn't know possible, a soothing cool in your own head. You are free. You stumble from the dream and you turn to Trahearne. You rush to his side, pushing past the others rushing to you in celebration and to see if you are alright. You ignore them and they step back.

Trahearne tries to smile but suddenly you are aware of just how bad he has changed. “My sword...” he whispers and you know, you know so well. Caladbolg is a gift and it is part of him. You follow his gaze and he can barely lift his head or his arms anymore.

“I have the sword, Marshal,” and it's broken, shattered, just like your heart.

“Quickly now: use it on me. Kill me, Commander.”

Every title you are given means more blood on your hands. You've learned titles mean death but you are ready. You raise the sword, eyes meeting Trahearne's. He smiles for the last time, weak but still so him — there is hope in his eyes. Hope not for himself, but for you. You have made him proud. You are a fine commander. He shakes and you will free Mordremoth's last victim.

You smile back, sadly and raise the sword. He touches your hand, fingers intertwine and he shakes, you can hear the dragon's voice grumbling from deep within him and you strike it down. You won't let this all be for naught and you are sorry, so sorry. Trehearne knows. You sheath his sword at your hip and you wipe away your tears. You look back at your team, your allies, and now _your pact_.

You are their commander and there is still work yet to be done.

 


End file.
